


That One Macbeth Quote About Being Yourself

by WillStepOnYouForCash



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Light Angst, Mild Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillStepOnYouForCash/pseuds/WillStepOnYouForCash
Summary: "Science Officer's Log, Stardate 41602.2: Today was a difficult day for everyone. Although I am new to this position, the science division still looks to me for guidance. This isn't to say that I am unwilling to guide them or be there for them when they need support, but it's very clear to me that I was probably ill-prepared to have to undertake such difficult tasks so early into this position... I feel really guilty making this about me when it really isn't about me."Moadreth Davon is lucky to be aboard the USS Enterprise, not because she isn't qualified or because she's too young, but simply because where else in the galaxy would she have been able to find everything she was looking for? Where else could she find creative inspiration, a tether to her culture, relationships that could span lifetimes, and more pit traps than someone should be able to realistically fall for? She's got centuries to go, but frankly this is the place that she feels she was always meant to be at. The story of the USS Enterprise really isn't about any specific person or any one story, which is one of the things Moadreth loved about it, but this story is about a specific person, it's about Moadreth.
Relationships: Data (Star Trek) & Original Female Character(s), Data (Star Trek)/Original Character(s), Data (Star Trek)/Original Female Character(s), William Riker/Deanna Troi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. As Happy Prologues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy. This should be a short chapter. Probably, as you expect, introducing an original character.
> 
> Word Count: 1221  
> TW: some suggestive language, but nothing major.

"Science Officer's Log, Stardate 41601.1: As this is the end of my first week as science officer, most my tasks have been reviewing the work of those within my purview. As expected, those within the science division of the _USS Enterprise_ have been conducting exemplary work. I am excited to be surrounded by such dedicated and hardworking people."

* * *

Ten Forward, as one would expect after a long day, was rather busy. People from all divisions were crowded around small tables talking, playing games, and drinking a variety of brightly colored synthehols causing the normally dark lounge to have a somewhat kaleidoscopic effect for those who sat at the bar and looked out. However, one such Lieutenant Natasha Yar didn't seem particularly interested in the spectacle as she clinked her shot glass against the one the woman next to her held before expertly downing the dark green liquid.

"So, Lieutenant Dovan, Science Officer huh? Very official," the taller woman cooed at the one next to her who trained her eyes on her empty shot glass with interest.

Lieutenant Dovan was a little less than a head shorter than Tasha, but she felt immensely shorter under her gaze. "You're one to talk Lieutenant Yar, Security Chief," she shot back, her green eyes focused on the crowd in the lounge.

"I guess that's fair," she returned, motioning the bartender for another round of shots for the two of them, "Still, you should be more excited, an officer position, any officer position, is impressive, and I'm glad to see you on the bridge a little more often, it's always great to have another woman on the bridge," she finished, offering another shot to the Lieutenant.

"You know Tasha, I can't argue with that," she laughed a little, taking the shot with renewed vigor, "To more women on the bridge," she chimed, clinking her shot against Tasha's before throwing it back, scrunching her nose a little after she did so.

"Now that's the Mo I want to see on the bridge!" Tasha mused after she finished her own shot. Then, she ordered the both of them synthehol beers, since it seemed like they'd probably be spending some time catching up rather than throwing a rager in the middle of the lounge.

Mo snorted, shaking her head slightly and laughing, "I get the feeling Captain Picard would prefer a more reserved and professional Mo."

"You're probably right," Tasha murmured, before taking a long sip of her drink not a second after it was placed in front of her. 

They drank in silence for a few moments. The ambient sounds of the Ten Forward seemed to oscillate as they both sat still. The people around them moved as if it was choreographed and they had somehow missed out on the memo. 

Mo opened her mouth to say something but Tasha cut in before she could mention some innocuous work topic, "So, when are you going to go talk to that table of cute engineers you've been looking at?"

Mo startled a little bit, nearly sending the synthetic beer out her nose, "What?" she questioned, supposing that perhaps she misheard the officer.

"Come on, you can't tell me you don't want to try and take one of them back to your room," Tasha sighed, her eyes focused on the woman next to her.

"I wasn't looking at them," Mo protested.

"You definitely were."

"I was just looking in that general direction, it's not my fault they were sitting there," she defended, distracting herself with her drink.

"What? Do you have cobwebs under there?" Tasha teased, bumping her with her elbow.

This time, Mo did spit out her drink, a peach hue slowly creeping over her fair freckled face after she did. She pursed her lips as she looked at the small mess before retrieving a napkin and wiping it up. She didn't say anything, but she could practically feel the bemused eyes of Tasha boring holes in the side of her head. Slowly, she turned her attention back to Tasha and gave her a quizzical look, as if to feign innocence.

Tasha sighed, "Come on, they're cute, you're cute, and you told me you like smart people, they're engineers!"

Mo huffed, taking a long sip of her synthehol, "Sure, but I'm not particularly looking for anything."

"You don't have to be looking for anything, just have some fun!" she returned, moving to bump her with her elbow again, but Mo shot her a look that seemed to threaten that she'd leave immediately if she tried that move again.

"That's fair, but even then I just don't really think this is a good time, even for something casual," she explained, running her finger along the top of the glass.

"So when in 100 years was a good time?"

"105 years, actually."

Tasha rolled her eyes and took another long sip from her glass, finishing it before setting it aside, "So what you're telling me is you're a tired old woman and you just don't have the appetites anymore."

Mo laughed a little and smiled as she replied, "That's definitely not what I said, I'll have you know I'm young for someone of my species, and I think I'm very spry."

Tasha couldn't help but laugh and give Mo's shoulder a pat, "You're definitely something, that's for sure," she chuckled.

The shorter woman shook her head, giving her buzzed brown hair a slight ruffle before smoothing it flat again, "Honestly it's a lot later than I thought it was, I should probably head to bed in a few," she offered in explanation.

The blonde woman rolled her eyes again, "Come on, tomorrow should be a slow day, it's just a rendezvous with Deanna's shuttle, you can have a little fun tonight," she retorted.

"That is true, but I'm still new to the main bridge, I need to make sure I'm at peak performance, which means more rest, a little less fun," she shot back, a little bit of a joking tone in her voice.

Tasha sighed as she watched Mo finish her drink, "I can't say I'm surprised, but you really should get out there more."

Mo's lips curved into a slight smile before leaning against the bar, "You're probably right. I guess I just don't feel the same urgency humans do, I have a lot of time to get out there," she drew, momentarily reflecting on how she didn't have such a limited timeline to try and pair off with someone if that was something she desired like humans did. While they usually had 80 years or so, she had centuries to decide if she wanted to be in a relationship.

"I guess that makes sense, I didn't really think about that," Tasha murmured, seeming to reflect on the exact same thing, but from the perspective of someone with 80 years.

Mo stood from her barstool, "Well, with that incredibly macabre thought, I should probably be off, goodnight Tasha," she piped, giving a slight wave as she passed the lieutenant.

Tasha returned the wave, "Goodnight Mo, see you tomorrow on the bridge."

Mo gave one last smile as if to confirm this before leaving Ten Forward, not giving the crowd in the lounge another look, fearing that Tasha might make some sly remark to her tomorrow if she did.


	2. Not Within the Prospect of Belief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy. Some of these chapters will follow the canon episodes in the show, others will include more original storylines. This is one of those that will more or less follow an episode.
> 
> Word Count: 7020  
> TW: Major Character Death, spoiler S1E22

"Science Officer's Log, Stardate 41601.3: My primary purpose on the bridge is to monitor the _Enterprise_ 's location on stellar charts and confirm their accuracy in real time. Furthermore, I am also tasked with acting as the lead stellar cartographer. This often sends me on away missions to ensure that current maps remain accurate or to draw up the initial maps on unexplored planets."

* * *

The turbolift moved quickly. It could take someone from the bottom of the ship to the top decks in what felt like no time at all. As Mo's turbolift reached the bridge, she wondered if a little extra time would have better prepared her for what she would meet.

"Science Officer, Lieutenant Moadreth Dovan, good to see you this morning," Tasha stated, matter-of-factly, as though she hadn't done so for the express purpose of getting a small rise out of her fellow lieutenant.

However, Mo couldn't help but take some amusement in this, and she started to return the full title and name treatment when her mirth was broken by Lieutenant Worf saying something none of them particularly found comforting.

"Sir, I'm receiving and emergency transmission from the shuttle," Worf annunciated, despite his tone always being serious, it felt exceptionally firm in this moment.

Mo didn't take time to listen specifically to what followed as she quickly stepped to her station, her eyes quickly darting over different screens. She could see their own mapped path, and where the paths of the _Enterprise_ and shuttlecraft 13 were supposed to intersect and continue on together after their rendezvous. Nothing seemed particularly suspicious to her, and from all the data readings in front of her, everything seemed exactly the same as it appeared on the maps.

"Sir, I have an onboard systems failure," she could hear Lieutenant Prieto explain over the intercom, "You'll have to tell me where I am."

Mo could feel her heart sink just a bit, however, she was fully aware that that wasn't inherently a death sentence or anything, it just meant that suddenly what was supposed to be an easy routine mission was suddenly incredibly more urgent. She listened closely as Lieutenant La Forge read off the shuttle's coordinates, and she marked it on the maps in front of her, indicating that an investigation of the perimeter around that area might be required if they don't figure out what happened to the shuttle in a timely matter or, providence forbid, something unfortunate happened to the shuttle.

"Losing more power," she heard the pilot narrate, causing her to crease her brows as she turned slightly to look out over the bridge to gauge the other officers' reactions.

She could sense the urgency, but in general, she was relieved to see the calm level-headedness of the bridge, even in an emergency scenario. Prior to this, she had worked on a science station, and this might not be a surprise, but there don't tend to be that many emergencies on a science station, particularly one that focuses on the restoration of Terran artifacts that had been scattered throughout the galaxy and recovered by exploration vessels. So, she felt that she might should expect that she'd feel a little less grounded than those who had already spent years on starships and had experienced the stresses that came with it before.

As Lieutenant La Forge read out the shuttles new coordinates, she marked them on the map again, a predicted trajectory line appeared between the first point and the second point. Normally, she'd need a third point to predict where the shuttle would head next, but as La Forge would explain, the shuttle was drawing too close to the planet, meaning that they were predicted to crash into it if they didn't change trajectory soon.

"The planet is Vagra II, sir, in the Zed Lapis sector. Uninhabited," Data explained, as though this wasn't a crisis scenario.

Mo pulled up the most recent map of the planet, done by stellar cartographers some 30 years ago. She could only guess that it was relatively inaccurate given that they didn't actually spend much time on the planet and mostly worked based off of what they could see from orbit. This wasn't necessarily wrong, in fact even now this was generally standard procedure for low priority planets, but in this moment Mo couldn't help but feel some misplaced irritation over this. She could try and predict where they would land on the planet based on the cycle of Vagra II, but she got the feeling it would be better to just simply let this play out in real time. However, she elected to mark the planet as needing further investigation, especially given the circumstances.

"We're caught in the planet's gravity," she heard Lieutenant Prieto relay, panic evident in his voice. Then, that was it. Just static followed, and they had to assume that they crashed into the planet.

Mo pinged one of the stellar cartographers underneath her command, "Ms. Laurens, I need you to see if any of those who mapped Vagra II included any notes that didn't make it into the final cut, nothing is particularly trivial," she ordered.

"Right away Lieutenant," she heard in return.

As they approached the planet, she couldn't decide if the discrepancies between the image in front of her and planet she saw with her own eyes were simply from time, or if they had truly sent the most lackluster cartographers in the galaxy to Vagra II. After a few minutes of editing the map of the planet from orbit and taking down her own notes as they approached, she heard Worf say what everyone was hoping he'd say.

"I've located the shuttle."

The location quickly popped up on her own screen, and she marked that spot for future investigation, as it seemed likely that an investigative team might be interested in examining the impact of the shuttlecraft. When she switched to the topographic map, she was remiss to find that there was no data for that area. Sure, it was a tad convenient that the area the cartographers hadn't gotten to is where the shuttle landed, meaning that it would be a good opportunity for her to take down the topography of the area, but it was irritating as this information would be helpful when determining what the landscape would be like when the away team arrived down there.

Then, they heard the next thing they had all hoped to hear from Worf, "I may have something, sir. Faint life signs, very faint."

Mo let out a small breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding. She cracked her knuckles to relieve some stress as she scanned over the maps again, as if hoping that somehow something new and helpful would suddenly pop up. The bridge was baffled by the debris impact on the computers ability to sense life signs and beam up the injured, and Mo was irritated to find that she, like the others, didn't have any real information on what on Vagra II could possibly be causing that. She made a note of this before returning to her hopeless analysis of the feeble maps before her.

Before she could even hope to glean any insight from the screen in front of her, the away team was being formed. She collected the necessary instruments to effectively remap the area the previous cartographers failed to. She was to join Commander Riker as well as Tasha, Lieutenant Commander Data, and Dr. Crusher in the transporter room. No one really said anything on the way there. It was as if everyone understood the severity of the situation and was afraid that any attempt at breaking the pressure would cause more harm than good. Mo checked over her instruments several times on the way to the transporter room, and she brought up the map of the area on her Tricorder too many times to just be considered due diligence. 

As they stepped into the transporter room, she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was a reason the cartographers didn't map this area well. Maybe it wasn't just a slapdash performance. She didn't voice these concerns at the time, though in retrospect, she might wish that she had indeed done so.

* * *

When they arrived on the planet, she more or less wasn't surprised by any of it. She didn't have an expectations, though she still couldn't help some of the irritation she harbored for the previous cartographers who didn't take topographic readings of what she considered to be a fairly standard location. While the others drew phasers, she and Dr. Crusher began activating the tools of their trade, mapping equipment and medical equipment respectively. While the others began to head towards the shuttle, she began mapping the area around them, which mostly just required quick scans and a few edits from her if she didn't feel satisfied with the scanner's work. She wasn't particularly listening to what was going on around her, as she was rather interested in the rock formations, especially since she couldn't be entirely sure what was natural and what was caused by the impact of shuttlecraft 13. However, she whirled around when she heard the commander ping the captain and explain that there was a problem. 

She hesitantly approached, peering from behind Tasha at what appeared to be a dark puddle. She quickly marked the location they stood in with a different sort of mark, one that noted the discovery of something insofar unexplained, as Data noted that the scan of it was inconclusive.

"How is it moving Data?" Commander Riker queried.

Mo shot a troubled look to Tasha who shrugged a little, the tenseness not particularly leaving her after the shrug. "It moved?" she questioned more to herself than anyone else, but she welcomed any explanation that came her way.

As the commander, Data, and the captain shot back and forth, ultimately coming to no sufficient conclusion, Mo hesitantly leaned forward a little to see her reflection in the moving puddle. Though before she could get a particularly good look, Tasha snatched the back of her uniform pulled her back.

"I can't trust you not to fall in Mo," the security officer stated, though it felt more like a warning, one that sent a slight chill down Mo's spine.

Before she could muster a thanks, the puddle seemed to rumble, before speaking with a voice that sounded hollow and robotic.

"Very good, tin man," the puddle drew, seeming to take some amusement in the analysis Data provided.

Mo jumped back, admittedly stumbling just a bit before finding her footing. She didn't hesitate to drop one of her topography tools in favor of her own phaser. She deliberately focused on the puddle, though there was no reason to even consider firing just yet. Although the planet wasn't particularly cold, she could feel the hairs from her neck to her hairline seem to stand on end. 

The black puddle slowly began to rise from the ground and take shape. It seemed vaguely humanoid, but something about that "seemed" stirred feelings of dread in Mo, who clenched and unclenched her jaw a few times over. Her short, sharp brows knitted together tightly as she tried to will her hands not to shake or sweat out of apprehension. She, like the others, tucked away her phaser, but she was unwilling to bend down and grab the tool on the ground that she had dropped. Something about the idea of taking her eyes off of the creature before her filled her with foreboding. She knew this feeling well. This feeling that curled around her, tightening her chest and cutting off her oxygen. This feeling that always foreshadowed events she would much rather forget. She swallowed in an attempt to push away the suffocating dryness of her throat, but it was to no avail. She could hear the commander's introduction to the being, but it registered less as words, and as more of a feeling.

"I am Armus. Why are you here?" Armus demanded, this clear question giving Mo just a moment to breathe, though she couldn't help but feel that taking a free breath was probably premature.

"We mean you no harm," the commander started, before pointing at the crashed shuttle, "We have injured crewmen in the shuttlecraft, we need to get to them, may we pass?" he finished.

"You haven't given me a good enough reason," Armus returned, unfazed by the urgency of the mission.

The cold prickles along Mo's skin returned, but she bit the inside of her cheek in an effort to maintain her focus. Not that maintaining her focus was ever her strong suit, but if ever a moment called for focus, it was this one. 

"You may leave now, if you wish," Armus offered, but this offer would include leaving behind their crewmates.

Tasha stepped forward, "We are not going without our shuttle crew," she explained firmly.

Dread filled Mo as she watched her braver crewmate draw closer to Armus. He seemed to begin a threat, but Tasha cut him off, and began to walk towards the shuttle. For whatever reason, Mo's legs didn't move when the away team began to move in the direction of the shuttle. She wasn't sure what it was, but she suddenly was reminded of her thought that perhaps there was a reason the cartographers didn't map this area. However, this thought would quickly be replaced by nothing but static, as she watched her friend's body ragdoll through the air and hit the soft ground with a crack.

"Tasha," she breathed, the front of her body moving a little before her legs were willing to, throwing her slightly off balance as she ran to her body. She heard nothing but the static in her ears and the sound of her own voice. As she rushed to her friend's side, not even bothering to mess with her phaser or look at Armus.

Dr. Crusher knelt down on one side to begin a scan and Mo slid to a stop in the sand on the other side. She quickly dropped to her knees as she looked over Tasha's expressionless face.

"Tasha? Tasha?" Mo begged, her voice somewhere just above a whisper, for fear that any louder would betray her voice to her emotions. She placed her hand on Tasha's outstretched arm as she barely held onto her composure, that is until Dr. Crusher said the words none of them were waiting to hear while the scanner produced only a flat tone.

"She's dead."

Mo wanted to protest this, beg Dr. Crusher or the scanner or her general sense of what a dead person looked like, to be wrong, but frankly it took most of her energy to hold it together. She dared not look at the faces of any of the other members of the away team, unless she wanted to see the expressions of those who also called Tasha friend fall.

Everyone expects a long drawn out and dramatic death scene, the kind you see in entertainment, but Mo knew better than most that this was not the case. Few were treated to such theatrics. Most went just as Tasha did, quickly, without flourish. However, it never hurt less. It always hurt every time someone left, and you didn't get to say goodbye. It never hurt less when you thought about the last time you hung out, and you wish with all your being that you had stayed longer. She didn't need to go to sleep. She could have stayed. Why didn't she stay? Have another round with her? Who cares if she teased her? It was friendly banter. It was anything that wasn't the deathly silence that enveloped the air around Tasha now. She gently folded Tasha's arm over her body, unwilling to think too long on how it fell so lifelessly. She was unwilling to focus too hard on how her friend was gone, because if she did it would just be too much, and there was still a mission to do that would require at least some form of consciousness from Mo.

* * *

She wasn't even really aware that they were in the transporter room until her gaze was ripped from Tasha's bloody face and she was headed to the sickbay with the others. For a moment, her thoughts were pulled from agony as she was grateful for her height which forced her to jog to keep up with the strides of Riker and Data as it was that jog that kept her from breaking into tears. Then, her thoughts shot back to the peeks she got of Tasha's lifeless body being carried in front of her. Then, she was consumed with guilt. Why didn't she say she had a bad feeling about what was about to happen? Even if no one listened, maybe they would have acted with more caution. Maybe they could have thought things through, taken a moment to return to the _Enterprise_ and collect their thoughts and come up with a plan that didn't result in the murder of a crewmate before their eyes. Maybe if she hadn't been so distracted by a stupid map she would have felt that dread earlier. Maybes continued to swirl in her mind so much so that she didn't even notice when Riker was pulling her to the side, out of the way of the medical staff who would try and revive her blonde friend.

Suddenly, in that room, the air felt heavy. She wanted so badly to watch, to keep her eyes open, so that if by some chance there was a miracle, she would see it. But, she knew there was more pain in hoping for something like that, so she squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lips between her teeth. However, even in her rejection of the possibility of Tasha coming back, her mind betrayed her. She begged for her to come back. Any of her. Maybe it was selfish of her, but she routinely would outlive her friends, and normally she had some time to prepare for that inevitable fact, but for Tasha, there was no time. She still had time left. She should have still had time left. A lot of time left. She was young. She had futures to write and live and exist in and damn it her time in the sun wasn't supposed to be over so soon. Or maybe it was, but it came as a shock to everyone.

"Please Tasha," she whispered, speaking before she even had time to realize she had said anything at all. She slowly opened her eyes. She could see Tasha's vital signs on the display on the wall falling below what one would normally need to be considered alive. Tasha's body jolted slightly with the shocks, but there was nothing. Hearing Dr. Crusher call for higher voltage shocks over and over again with no success tore at Mo's heart. As the captain approached, she turned her attention to him, and she could only hope that her expression didn't give away just how truly desperately she was holding on to that sliver of a chance for the miraculous, even though she tried so agonizingly hard not to.

"She's gone," Dr. Crusher stated.

Needles poked at the back of her eyes and heat rushed to her face. She didn't want to cry for Tasha, she knew that the security officer would detest that. The next breath in was shaky, and though she tried to stabilize her breath out, it felt like she only exacerbated the problem. She didn't think about what she could have done anymore, her thoughts were consumed with Tasha. It wasn't time to cry for her or mourn for her yet. Right now, it was time to do what Tasha would do if it were Mo or any of the others who were dead on that table, finish the mission.

If asked, she would admit that she didn't even realize she had walked to the conference room until she was sitting in a chair, listening to the others argue and yell about what happened. Listening, it was something that the others who were like her were well known for being incredibly good at. However, she still felt she had a lot to learn about that particularly art before she really mastered it, and frankly given her circumstances she felt she might never master it. Nevertheless, in moments like these, she felt that her ability to listen really shined. There was no need for another voice. When the captain asked her to give her account of the events it was matter-of-fact.

"When we arrived on the surface, I got right to work taking scans of the surrounding area to fill in the empty portion in the map, when the creature, Armus as they identified themself, began to speak, I turned my attention to that. After a little bit of back in forth, including several explanations that we meant no harm, Tasha- Lieutenant Yar, I mean- began to head towards the shuttle. Armus attacked her and killed her, I went to her body and I stayed there until we were brought back to the _Enterprise._ "

"And you didn't provoke Armus, Lieutenant?"

"No, I didn't say a word to Armus."

"I can confirm, sir, Lieutenant Dovan was simply doing her job," Data affirmed, vouching for Mo's experience as he saw it from his perspective.

However, quickly things would erupt into argument as some accused Tasha or Riker or Data or Dr. Crusher or Mo of provoking Armus. Mo didn't interject, and she didn't defend her own name, the others there saw what happened, they had it covered. Then, Captain Picard interjected.

"Lieutenant Yar's death is very painful for all of us. We will have to deal with it as best we can for now. Until the shuttle crew is safely beamed aboard this ship, our feelings will have to wait. Is that understood?" he questioned, calmly looking out over the table of officers in front of him.

Although no one verbally answered, it was subverbally agreed upon by everyone, to do what was best for the mission. Mo listened as details were given by the experts on various topics. Frankly, nothing about topographic structure could be even remotely useful here. She was happy to sit silently and wait for orders. When it was time to form the away team again, Commander Riker seemed to think for a moment about rather or not to bring her along again.

"Lieutenant Dovan, it is dangerous down there, do you believe that your mapping expertise requires you to be on the surface?" he questioned, deciding he would consider the science officer's input on this.

Mo shook her head, "No, I think it's better if I remain on the bridge," she paused a moment before swallowing a small lump in her throat, "However, I did leave a piece of equipment on the surface, for that I apologize, but if at all possible, if you could retrieve it while your down on the ground I would be grateful," she explained, rather irritated by her own mistake.

The commander nodded, "Of course, I'm sorry you couldn't finish your readings," he finished, before embarking with the away team.

She rose from her chair slowly, she passed one last glance at the captain before returning to the bridge. With most of the officers away, she shifted to a different position, one more essential than looking at broken maps. From here, she monitored the coms, specifically monitoring their connection. It was best to know if Armus was going to cut them off from the ground team, not that there was much they could do if he did. She watched the blinking lights blankly. There wasn't much to do except watch and listen. Hear the agony of the crew as they begged to treat the wounded. Hear Armus mess with them, toy with them, revel in their suffering. However, if anything would snap her from a blank expression, to one of surprise and fear again, it was hearing that the commander had been "enveloped" by Armus. She looked around the bridge to the captain for answers. 

The captain seemed still for a moment, then, he made his decision, "I'm going to go down there," he stated firmly, with the kind of calmness only someone with his experience could produce, "Worf, you have the bridge," he stated, before heading off to be transported down to the surface. With Worf in the commander's position, she stepped into his position. Science officers were rarely placed in charge of the bridge. This really only happened in times of war and for good reason too. Science officers were more often than not highly specialized, their services were often better served in their area of specialty. However, in times of war or emergency situations, a science officer might take command. She kept the audio on, and until she was told otherwise, that was what she would do.

Every time Armus spoke, the bridge would go silent.

"You are the one in charge?" _silence._

"Answer, tin man." _silence._

"Maybe." _silence._

"Don't you want to ask me what I want?" _silence._

"Not even to protect your own existence?" _silence._

"Entertain me." _silence._

"Then I will do it myself!" _silence._

"You, tin man. Now, tell me, how would you feel if you were the instrument of death for your leader?" _silence._

It was as if everyone was too scared to speak, as if by speaking they might cause someone to miss something, miss anything that might help their present situation. Mo listened on in silence. There was no reason for her to say anything anyway, but even she felt particularly quiet, like somehow she had managed to silence literally everything around her, her breathing, and even her heartbeat.

"Perhaps killing the doctor would engender more feeling." _silence._

If listening was all they could do, they might as well all listen to the best of their ability. The bridge trained their ears on the action and their eyes on their jobs. If you looked out over the bridge, you might think you had lost your hearing, as everyone continued their work as they normally would in a situation like this, but when Armus spoke, they went silent, unnaturally uncomfortably silent.

"And what about you doctor? Are you ready to die? Tell me you are not afraid." _silence._

"Beg me to spare you." _silence._

"One of you is going to die, and you, doctor, get to choose. You don't like that do you?" _silence._

Mo's attention shifted briefly to Wesley, as if to gauge his reaction to his mother's choice, but she was relieved to find that he seemed focused on his job. Which made sense, everyone was. Everyone was focused hoping for some stroke of creative genius, hoping for anything they could do to end this sooner than later.

"No. You are going to live. One of them dies." _silence._

"Maybe this one, though I would not call it death, since he is only a device. Tell me tin man, how does it feel to face your own extinction?" _silence._

Mo slowly breathed out. How cruel Armus was. It wasn't enough to kill one of them, but now he taunts and ridicules them, forces them to face death, and derides them at every turn, denies their humanity, and plays with their emotions. Mo was grateful not to be down there herself, but also she wanted so badly to be there with them. If someone else she cared for was about had to die, she didn't want it to happen over audio. It was hard enough not to say goodbye, but to hear it happen, and not only be powerless to stop it but not even get to understand what happened, it sounded agonizingly painful.

"So, what do you think?" 

Before there could be silence, there was a sharp whistle from the officer who filled in at ops at Data's response, "I think you should be destroyed."

Worf sent a sharp glare at the officer, but even he could admit that in that moment, everyone on the bridge felt just a little bit better hearing him say what everyone was thinking. Especially as Armus found himself unable to get their fellow crewmembers to play his twisted game.

"A moral judgement from a machine?" 

Again there was no silence, it was as though some of the dread and fear had been lifted. Not entirely of course, some amount of fear is healthy, but it was enough that it was like a weight was lifted off of the officers on the bridge. Like it gave them a little more freedom and agency. It wasn't that this would allow them to do their jobs better, it was just that now they did their jobs with the top proficiency, but without feeling like if they blinked they would miss something that would end the lives of everyone they cared about.

Although they listened to the audio as they spoke, they were less concerned with the actual words, and more concerned with the results of them. The results they needed were Riker freed and the ability to see the two who were still stuck inside the shuttle. Mo swallowed hard as she looked over the station in front of her, before looking out again over the bridge. Then, they got one of the results they were looking for. Everyone listened in closely to hear Dr. Crusher either confirm their worst fears or relieve them of the tension they all carried in their shoulders as they waited for the news.

"All signs show normal," she breathed, relief evident in her own voice.

There were several sighs of relief and exclaims of gratitude over the bridge as they heard that their first officer was alright, at least for now, barring Armus didn't decide to take an interest in casual murder again, in which case they all felt that there would be no hope for the away team, and it was best not to consider that for the time being.

When Worf confirmed the order to beam the four original away team members back to the _Enterprise,_ a new sense of curiosity captured Mo's attention. What was the captain's plan? Was it just to distract Armus long enough to get everyone out? Was this an effective strategy? As of right now, simply denying him his requests had seemed effective enough, but will it continue to be enough? These were questions she simply couldn't answer, and it seemed doubtful that she would be able to anytime soon. 

She affirmed that the officers had been safely beamed aboard and relayed the order that they were to be briefly examined in the sickbay. After that, she returned to her game of waiting. The negotiations between the captain and Armus continued on. Everyone on the bridge waited patiently for the opening they needed. They listened as the captain poked and prodded at Armus's deepest insecurities and pains. In some respect, Mo might be compelled to feel sorry for him, but how could she. He murdered her friend. He taunted and tormented her crewmates, people that she cared about. How could she ever feel sorry for him when in every respect he was a monster. Maybe some might be more moved to forgiveness, but she was not some.

* * *

"Science Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 41602.2: Today was a difficult day for everyone, myself included. Although I am new to this position, the science division still looks to me for guidance. This isn't to say that I am unwilling to guide them or be there for them when they need support, but it's very clear to me that I was probably ill-prepared to have to undertake such difficult tasks so early into this position... I feel really guilty making this about me when it isn't really about me. My perspective will always put me at the center of all events I experience, no matter how fallible that logic is. At the captain's request, I marked Vagra II to be declared off-limits, and rightfully so."

* * *

Tasha's funeral on the holodeck wasn't to be a big event. Just a few of the people she cared about. It wasn't to be extravagant or full of emotional testimony, which frankly Mo was thankful for, as it seemed unlikely she would be able to hold it together for anything more than just a reflection of her memory and a recording she made in the event her untimely death occurred. 

"We're here together to honor our friend and comrade, Lieutenant Natasha Yar. Coming to terms with the loss of a colleague is perhaps the most difficult task we must face in the work we have chosen to pursue. We will all find time to grieve for her in the days that are ahead. But for now, she has asked that we celebrate her life, with this," Captain Picard explained, his voice not heavy laden with sadness, but rather it seemed some amount happiness, purely because he had the great honor to get to know her and be her captain.

Mo, admittedly rather short, something Tasha would never let her forget, stood towards the front of the small group, not necessarily because she wanted to, but simply because she wanted to see. As the hologram of Tasha appeared, whatever tenseness she had been holding from anger (some of it misplaced, some of it rightfully directed at her murderer who would never face justice), seemed to dissipate. It hadn't been that long, but somehow Mo found herself wondering if she had already forgotten what Tasha's face looked like full of life as so many of her memories were now plagued by the image of her deathly still corpse.

"Hello, my friends," the hologram started.

Mo would be remiss to admit, but that was really all it took, tears that had been quietly lying in wait spilled over onto her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away. Although Tasha wasn't here to see it, she wanted to fulfill Tasha's request, and there was no way that a celebration for Tasha would include tears.

"You are here now watching this image of me because I have died. It probably happened while I was on duty, and quickly, which is what I expected. Never forget I died doing exactly what I chose to do. What I want you to know is how much I loved my life, and those of you who shared it with me. You are my family. You all know where I came from and what my life was like before. But Starfleet took that frightened, angry young girl and tempered her. I have been blessed with your friendship and your love," the hologram continued.

And how much it hurt to love someone who had passed.

"Will Riker, you are the best. You trusted me, you encouraged me, and most of all, you made me laugh," she continued, addressing the commander, and Mo couldn't help but reflect on the times that they hung out in Ten Forward. Unlike Mo, Tasha had higher standards for humor, so if something made Tasha laugh, one could bet that it had Mo laughing so hard she gasped for air. Who would she laugh with in Ten Forward with now?

"Deanna, you are capable of so much love. You taught me without ever having to say a word. I realized I could be feminine without losing anything," this time, she addressed the counselor. Mo could remember Tasha lamenting about the trappings of femininity, which frankly Mo understood. Neither one of them exuded feminine energy, however if Mo had to guess, she'd have said Tasha would have mastered a healthy balance of femininity long before she could ever.

"Ah, Worf. We are so much alike, you and I: both warriors, orphans who found ourselves this family. I hope I met death with my eyes wide open," she was powerful, even in hologram form, and that was true. And she did meet death headfirst, with no hesitation. It was how she expected, and Mo would suspect even wanted, to go. Although it hurt, Mo respected this, and she would honor that memory.

"Beverly. Your fierce devotion comes from within. It can't be diminished. From you, I have learned to strive for excellence, no matter what the personal cost," she continued, and although Mo could never be certain of something so personal to Tasha, couldn't help but believe that this was entirely true, and that she did achieve excellence, not just in death but in her life.

"Wesley, I'm sorry I won't be able to see you grow into the exceptional man you'll become. But your kindness and innocence are ageless," she explained, earnestly. Maybe she wouldn't get to see him grow up, but she would have an impact on him, and her memory would be carried with him wherever he went. Tasha was a fine person to be inspired by and to seek to emulate.

"Geordi, in those moments I felt the most despair, you took my hand and helped me to see things differently. You taught me to look beyond the moment," The more and more names she said, the more and more Mo felt what a loss she was. She had such an impact on so many people and she was deeply important to those who called her friend. Mo wondered at what point she would no longer reflect on memories of her. Or at what point she would be able to reflect on memories of her again without being overcome by grief.

"My friend Data, you see things with the wonder of a child. And that makes you more Human than any of us," she continued. Mo wondered for a moment how Tasha perceived her. Did she see her as human, but just with an incredible lifespan? Was she cognizant of their different species? However, these questions, which frankly didn't matter much, would quickly vanish from her mind as she heard her own name.

"Mo, you're my favorite drinking buddy, and a true creative who showed me the beauty in the slow moving moments in life," she chimed. Mo wanted so badly to be able to see all of it, but her vision blurred as tears cascaded down her cheeks. Sure it was short, but how could she not? How could she not when she said something like that? It was probably uncouth, but Mo used her sleeves to wipe her tears away, trying to keep Tasha's wishes as best she could. It was a celebration of her life and she was going to keep fighting away her tears which were unwelcome at Tasha's celebration.

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard. I wish I could say you've been like a father to me, but I've never had one so I don't know what it feels like. But if there was someone in this universe I could choose to be like, someone who I would want to make proud of me, it's you. You who have the heart of an explorer and the soul of a poet. So, you'll understand when I say: death is that state in which one only exists in the memory of others; which is why it is not an end. No goodbyes, just good memories. Hailing frequencies closed, sir," she finished, her hologram disappearing, a smile on her face as she did. 

There was silence for a moment, and Mo tried to keep her shaky breathing as silent as possible, to allow everyone the space to reflect on what they heard, and on the life of Tasha. 

Then, Captain Picard broke the silence, "Au revoir, Natasha," he paused, as if to allow those words to expand throughout the entire holodeck, before finishing, "The gathering is concluded."

Even still, it took everyone what felt like a small eternity to be ready to leave, but when they did, they followed one another out, leaving only the captain and Data behind. It was funny, in the sort of dark comedy sort of way, but all Mo wanted to do after that was get another drink with Tasha. All she could think about was after something sad like that, it would be amazing just to "have a little fun" as Tasha would have put it. But no, that wasn't possible, and frankly Mo didn't feel that she was ready to go get a drink by herself, so she resigned to return to her quarters.

On her way out of the holodeck, she spotted Deanna and Riker standing by, as if to gauge the emotional fragility of each who left Tasha's memorial. However, this reminded her of her request of the commander. Was now the right time to bring that up? Who knows. Probably not if she was honest, but, maybe it would be a welcome distraction.

"Say, Commander Riker sir?" she queried, pausing until she was certain she had his attention, "Were you able to grab the topography equipment I left down there?"

His face fell a little as he stared at the science officer, "I think Armus has it," he started, somewhat flatly, "I had it, and then Armus engulfed me, and I didn't have it when he spit me back out," he finished.

Mo choked back a small laugh. Despite everything, there was no way that that couldn't be just a little funny, really incredibly funny. In any other circumstance, there's no way she would have been able to not bust into uncontrollable laughter, but in this case, the small smile that split across her face naturally fell as the little bit of warmth she felt quickly dissipated to be replaced by the cool weight of grief.

"Is there something funny about that Mo?" the commander asked, tilting his head in mock seriousness.

"No sir, not at all, I'm just glad that all of you returned, relatively unscathed. My equipment is of no importance in comparison to that," she replied, sincerely, despite the fact that she did indeed find the prospect of some boring mapmaking equipment being stolen just a tad funny. 


	3. To Beguile the Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! This chapter, unlike the previous, does not follow an episode. Awesome. It's on the shorter side. Sorry it took so long. I lacked inspiration ngl and then I lost track of time. lol.
> 
> Word Count: 4863  
> CW: none, mostly wholesome, I kept the fluff to a minimum bc if I write too much fluff I combust into flames

"Science Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 41699.2: We have arrived at Sarona VIII for shore leave. I enjoy shore leave as much as the next, but I'm not as interested in visiting the planet's surface as some of my comrades are. As such, I've been spending much of my time engrossed in painting and relaxing."

* * *

It wasn't uncommon to catch Mo not in standard uniform. This wasn't because she played fast and loose with the rules or anything, but more so just because she often engaged in activities that her uniform was not so suited for in her down time. For example, today she stood barefoot while she painted on a grassy hill. Her mustard yellow long-sleeved shirt might appear rather oversized to some as it was almost long enough to be considered a dress and the shoulder seams appeared to hang around her mid-bicep, requiring the sleeves to be rolled up so they didn't overtake her paint covered hands, but Mo would be the first to assure them that it, along with her faded, similarly colored baggy pants, was designed to be that way. On her head was a stiff wide brim dark yellow hat. She was thoroughly monochromatic, which might come at the chagrin of those who preferred more colorful attire, but this was commonplace for her people, and she would happily uphold this legacy in her own fashion decisions. Furthermore, she felt that this clothing was more conducive to her creative inspiration, not the least because if it was stained it was much less detrimental than if her Starfleet uniform was.

She stepped away from the multicolor canvas in front of her and looked out from the hill she stood on. Stretched out before her was a verifiably lovely scene. The grass underneath her was what seemed like an impossible jewel tone green. Behind her were tall trees with spindly needles which seemed to sparkle in the warm light of the yellow sun above her. A soft breeze rustled her clothes, but was not so strong that it made her artistic endeavors impossible. On the other side of the meadow were deep brown rocks which gave way to a crystal clear stream which seemed to sing alongside the rest of the chorus of the natural environment. It was an ideal setting for many, but for Mo, despite it's incredible simplicity, it was perfect, a relative paradise. The ground was warm and soft underneath her feet, so much so that she felt that she might even forget that she was not actually on the planet this simulation was modeled after. 

Mo shifted her paintbrush to the same hand which held her palette as she knelt down. She plucked a flower so swiftly that it seemed as though this action were practiced, and with how often she visited this simulation, it practically was. The bright orange petals curled in odd directions, giving way to the bright green center of the common flower. She gave it a slight whiff, still incredibly mystified by how accurately the holodeck could simulate something like the subtle sent of what was her favorite flower when she was a young child. However, she quickly dropped the flower when a sudden sneeze followed her inhale.

"It's almost like the holodeck can even simulate my seasonal allergies," she murmured in thought, before looking over her shoulder to gaze at the dark-haired woman who had been lurking near the edge of the tree line behind her for no more than a minute or so, "Or is it just psychosomatic, counselor?"

Deanna seemed a little surprised by being suddenly addressed by the woman in yellow, but she quickly recovered with a slight smile, "I wasn't aware you had noticed me, I'm sorry for not announcing my presence," she explained apologetically.

"It's all good, I could never miss my friend when she's come to visit me in my favorite little holodeck simulation," she replied, putting her palette and brush down on tall stool beside her. She motioned for her join her where she stood at the edge of the hill, and Deanna accepted this invitation wordlessly. She admired the scene, taking in each piece of it with all of her senses. Everything about it was picturesque, so much so that it must have seemed like a mere fantastic creation on Mo's part.

"This place is really beautiful Mo," she offered, her dark eyes focused on the way the grass moved in waves as the breeze rustled it.

"It really was, it was all this and so much more. In the winter, this hill would get covered in snow and kids would slide down it on sleds," she chuckled wistfully.

"That sounds incredible, this place must hold so many fun memories for you to recreate it in the holodeck."

"Sure, but where we stand now no longer exists in this state. The land where it once was is so scarred if we landed there today you wouldn't be able to recognize it," she recalled, the ever slightest hint of sadness at the end of her words.

For a moment, no one said anything else. The only noise was the whispers of running water mixed with a whistle of a breeze and the swaying of the ancient trees.

Deanna let out a slight breath, "I see," she offered, her voice soft and gentle. It was the kind of voice she would use when she could sense the melancholy or regret in someone she spoke with, and Mo was well aware of that, but it didn't particularly bother her as she figured that even a non-Betazoid could sense the sadness she felt at the loss of someplace she loved.

"Anyway, was there something I could do for you Deanna?" she chimed, eyeing her closely, as if she was searching for something specifically in the sharp features of the ship's counselor.

"No, I just came to ask you what you were planning to do for the rest of shore leave," she returned, tilting her head slightly at her question.

Mo could tell that her friend was well aware that she had so far elected not to leave the ship, and had spent much of her free time either in a science lab, her quarters, or the holodecks. She smiled coyly and adjusted her hat slightly before picking at some of the dried paint on her hands.

"You know, there's a lovely art museum with a new collection on 23rd century political multi-media art on Sarona VIII, I'm certain you would enjoy it, and if you don't want to go alone, I could likely convince the captain or Data to join you," Deanna explained, as if to try and entice Mo to even consider beaming down to the surface.

Mo chuckled slightly, narrowing her eyes playfully at the woman who stood next to her, "You know me better than I thought, and while that prospect is alluring, I really think I'd rather stay here," she retorted, turning her attention to her unfinished work, a portrait of a woman in wine red with curly dark hair and pale green eyes. 

Deanna didn't immediately react to this, and Mo could only assume this was not the response she was hoping for, "Are you going to join some of the other officers and I at the club tonight, you never responded when I originally invited you."

"Must I?" she turned, not yet turning her gaze back to the counselor whose eyes bore holes in the back of her head.

"I understand that you haven't been to Ten Forward in awhile, and I know that must be hard for you since that's where you and Natasha used to spend a lot of time together, so I thought it might be nice for you to relax and hang out with some of your friends someplace new," she explained, closely watching Mo to gauge her reaction to her analysis.

"That's true," she started, a slight laugh dissipating quickly as she briefly licked her top lip in thought, "This conversation suddenly makes a lot more sense," she finished, her shoulders sinking slightly as she shifted her weight to turn back to the concerned counselor.

Deanne's eyebrows knitted together in what Mo could only assume was empathy, before she elaborated, "I'm sorry, it's just that you've been understandably full of hurt and loss lately, and thought you might welcome a short distraction."

Mo nodded, a soft smile present on her freckled face, "Thank you Deanna, but you know, I was never really much into the whole club scene, I only went to Ten Forward as often as I did because that was where Tasha was, and that was where we would hang out," she replied, sentimental for a moment as some of those good memories at Ten Forward were not so twisted by her death that she couldn't briefly consider them anymore.

"I see," the counselor started, pausing a moment to let Mo's words hang in the air for just a moment before continuing, "And no, you don't have to join us at the club if you don't want to."

She seemed to think for a moment before shrugging, "Perhaps I will visit the art museum," she acquiesced, her eyes dropping to the grass beneath her feet.

Deanna's lips split into a dazzlingly bright smile, "I figured that would get your attention."

"What can I say, I'm an open book," she returned, her lips pulling into a slight smile of her own. 

She shot a small smile back at the shorter woman before turning and exiting the holodeck, leaving Mo back to her work. 

She eyed her canvas skeptically. How odd it must be that she sits in a picturesque location and then proceeds to not paint it. In fact, in glancing at the scattering of canvases near her, all of them contained the starts of pieces that had little to nothing to do with the scene before her. There was what appeared to be an unfinished portrait of a woman with long dark brown hair and yellow-green eyes and lips pulled into what seemed to be a forced flat smile, a planet that looked like it was slowly being ripped a part, but had barely even started being painted, and a sketch of another portrait that only Mo would probably be able to tell whose likeness it was. She slowly traded out the canvas she was working on for another blank one. She started to reach for a pencil, but she quickly paused and retracted her hand as if it would be a disgrace to make even a slight mark on the stark white canvas before it was its time to become something different. 

She slowly stacked her half-finished canvases (the most recent one on top since it was not yet dry) and sat them aside. Then, she returned her attention to the blank canvas and reached for a pencil again. This time, she grabbed it and pulled it to her face, gently tapping the non-pointed end on her bottom lip. She didn't feel guilty looking for new inspiration when she had many many unfinished projects. Her biggest struggle had always been finishing pieces, and she had learned to live with that character flaw.

Maybe she needed a change of scenery. She thought about the simulations she had loaded in the computer and reflected on which one she felt like making use of right now. There was that one beach in the summer or that one rooftop with the view of the city or she could always sit outside that pretty little cabin by the lake or that old town with all the towers by the canyon. However, that seemed like too many options. Maybe it was best just to figure something out while she was here. She pinched the bridge of her nose gently and closed her eyes in thought as she considered her next course of action. Maybe it was best to just call it a day. Clearly she was getting no where fast with this. So really, nothing had changed since the last time she actually stood barefoot on the land she stood on now. Land so much older than any concept of state or Federation; it was land so old there was no need to name it, as no name they could have possibly come up with as mortals would have done justice to the land they thought would be around for many more millennia. 

She gave a slow quiet sigh before tossing the pencil back on the stool, and it rolled off the opposite edge defeatedly. She sat down on the hill beside her easel and laid back, adjusting her hat so that she didn't bend the brim when she did. She squinted her eyes and looked up at the sky through her eyelashes as she relaxed on the ground. The cool grass curled around her arms and legs and tickled the back of her neck as she placed her hat on her chest and used her other arm to support her head. This was better. There was no pressure to be inspired or complete something, it was relaxing and a remnant of an incomplete childhood. What she wouldn't give for another lazy afternoon picnic with her parents and siblings. Just one more.

* * *

The sound of the bubbly laughter of a child overwhelmed her senses as she suddenly felt like she was falling. She bolted up and was met with the stoic face of the woman whose portrait she had been painting.

"Moad, the ants are going to get to your plate first if you don't stop sleeping in the dirt," she cooed, her deep voice melodic and soft, juxtaposing her fixed features. She had the qualities of an old soul in the visage of a Grecian marble statue.

"Okay mom," she replied absentmindedly, as though the words were not hers, but were simply being relayed through her. Something about this wasn't right. Mo couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about what was happening was completely and entirely wrong. The setting made sense, that lovely hill with the orange flowers that she nearly broke her nose tying to sled down last year was good for picnicking so that wasn't the problem. That was definitely her mom with her pretty brown hair tucked behind her ears while she offered Mo one of those simple little triangle cut sandwiches she liked so much, so that was fine too. She looked to her right and she could see her older sister push her older brother's hand away as he tried to steal one of those cute little orange berries off her sister's plate, which completely tracked with the nature of their relationship. Something was off here, but since she couldn't quite place it, it seemed unnecessary to question it.

She went to take a bite of the sandwich her mother handed her, but it wasn't in her hands. In fact, her whole plate was empty. She must have already eaten everything she was given and forgotten. That was kind of funny.

"Now, my little Moad, the people of Earth have been flying these funny little toys for centuries!" her father chimed, his hands gently guiding Mo's arms as she held onto the end of a string. The other end was attached to a clump of technicolor paper that soared through the sky completely uncontrolled despite her father's attempt to instruct her on the nature of the Terran toy known as a kite. How odd that they hadn't thought of something like it themselves, but I guess that just goes to show why it's so important for such interstellar organizations to unite people from across the galaxy. If not for the Federation, how would she get to play with the silly little Earth toys? However, suddenly she had that feeling again, something about this was wrong. She supposed that maybe she had done this before, but that couldn't be right since she was only four (almost five) and was just barely able to toddle about without smacking her head on every nearby surface. 

It occurred to her then that there was a very clear explanation for this.

A very very clear explanation that would definitely dawn on her right now.

Right now.

Now.

Maybe not. Maybe there wasn't a clear explanation, maybe it was best to just accept that this was where she was, and even if things didn't make sense it was how it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be ideal and lovely, right? What more could she, a four almost five year old child, ask for anyway?

"Smile Mo-Mo!" she heard some distant family member that she didn't quite know the name of call. 

"Okay!" she returned, turning her attention slowly forward. Her right hand was warmly enveloped in her mother's. She could feel the weight of one of her father's hands on her left shoulder and she could hear the unsettled movement of her older siblings on the other side of her mother. A family photo on a lovely hill. It really was so nice. It was incredibly wrong, but really nice.

She could hear the sound of screams in the distance. She couldn't remember that part of this memory. 

That was the very clear explanation she was looking for: a memory! This was a memory! Yes, that's right. It was a lovely spring afternoon and her parents had planned a family picnic. Her aunt or uncle came with her cousins as well. It was nice. She "learned" how to fly a kite, but really it was more slowly rolling the string back up every time it inevitably crumpled into the ground. She was really really bad at flying the kite. Of course, she was a little kid, of course she was. Come to think of it, Mo wasn't certain she had flown a kite since this memory. It might be worth trying that out some time, just for nostalgia's sake if nothing else.

What was that yelling all about though? That was not a part of this memory. Any yelling that occurred that day was between her squabbling older siblings, who, despite being in their 30s, never quite seemed to be able to move passed their fighting phase. She supposed that none of her parents' children really acted like the typical child from their world. One has to wonder where they could have possibly got it from. Was there even a typical child? Mo supposed probably not. Children, like adults, were people and individuals. Any trends of how children of different species act were probably more happenstance than anything else.

It wasn't usually this warm during the spring, but it felt like her feet were on burning. Odd, she couldn't remember that part of this memory. Did she have a memory of the smell? If she didn't, it still seemed odd that it smelled like this. It was smoky and foul, like some mix of things that she couldn't possibly wrap her mind around as a child. Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled by her arm. It was definitely her father's arm on her bicep, but he was usually so gentle, but right now it felt like he had a vice grip on her as he pulled her down the burning street. The sound of screams was mixed with something mechanical and robotic, but frankly the confusion was a lot more compelling than anything else.

"Where are we going?" she asked, plainly, matter-of-factly, in a way that sounded like the words were right, but she was reading off of a piece of paper rather than just saying them naturallt.

"Mo," she heard someone say.

That sounded less like it came from someone and more like it came from inside her head. Now that was definitely not a part of this memory. She could maybe justify all the odd scene changes as poor memory on her part or something, but a voice inside her head that wasn't her own internal monologue? Now that was definitely way out of place. Or, maybe she was just really that bad at recalling her own childhood memories, which might make sense if some of them weren't so distinct.

"Mo," the voice called again, just barely below the level on consciousness that she could match the voice with its owner.

No, that did it, it was clearly some outside force and definitely not a part of this weird and not-so-easy to follow memory.

* * *

This time when she bolted up, she was met with the familiar sight of holodeck simulation of that lovely hill from her memories. 

"I am sorry for waking you," she heard that voice she hadn't been quite able to place in her dream explain.

"It's all good," she returned, slowly turning her attention to the man who slowly stood from a kneeling position beside her, "What can I do for your Data?" she queried, brushing her hat off before pressing it back on top of her head.

His head quirked slightly in its typical fashion, "Mo," he started, putting emphasis on her preferred name, "Counselor Troi said that you might desire some company at the art museum down on Sarona VIII. I tried to reach you on your combadge to ask when you were planning on going, but when you did not answer I elected to check and make sure that you were alright."

"I see, sorry, yeah I guess I fell asleep," she laughed, wiping underneath her eyes to clear any of the fogginess from them.

"Yes, that was evident based on your lack of response to my attempts at communication."

Mo was quiet for a moment, as if she was deciding if she should apologize again, but she supposed that her half-hearted sorry was enough for iniquity of not answering her combadge. She debated standing, but there was something so comforting about sitting on that hill. There was something so familiar about it, but as her dream slipped from her memory, she couldn't quite place what was so uncanny about it. Either way, she knew that it was something nice and comfortable, like wearing warm socks to bed when its been cold all day.

She blew out a puff of air before looking up at Data, "Honestly, I wasn't really planning on going. I told her I might so she wouldn't worry I was being uncharacteristically reclusive," she admitted, twisting the grass she sat on absentmindedly as she did.

He seemed to ponder this for a moment before asking earnestly, "Forgive me if I am overstepping, but are you not being uncharacteristically reclusive?"

"Maybe a little, but I didn't want Deanna to know that."

"It seems like she is already aware of your behavior, but if you do not wish to go to the surface, I will leave you here," he explained, quickly turning to leave the holodeck.

"Hold on a minute, I said I wasn't planning on going, but my plans can change," she offered, stopping him before he could more than a few steps away.

* * *

"The romantic period on Sarona VIII follows shares many tenets and themes with the period of the same name on Earth with a few key distinctions," Data explained as Mo listened intently.

"Such as?" she questioned, encouraging him to go on.

Mo examined the colorful painting in front of her as Data reminded her why the distinct lack of interest in superstition on Sarona VIII was particularly interesting. They had long since made their way through the political art exhibit, where Mo offered her opinion as a being with emotions while Data made comments on the quality, occasionally taking unintentional not-so subtle digs at the artists, which had Mo stifling laughter so as to not upset the high brow museum attendees. Now, they had proceeded to an exhibit on oil paintings from the Saronan romantic era.

"May I ask you a question?" Data started, breaking his longwinded explanation on the different brushstrokes employed by certain renowned artists of the period.

"Sure, ask away," Mo replied somewhat flatly breaking her gaze away from the canvas to focus on Data.

"Do you find my sharing of my knowledge of art history and art theory to be irritating?"

Mo scrunched her eyebrows together for a moment in response to his baffling question, "Nope, why d'you ask?" 

"I often find that people are irritated when I share my knowledge in areas they consider to be their expertise," He returned, matter-of-factly.

"Oh geesh, well, frankly I'd hardly consider art history or art theory to be an area of expertise, especially since I went to school in the early 24th century, I'm sure the curriculum has changed in that time, but even if I was one of the foremost experts, I'd be pretty self-absorbed to think that there wouldn't eventually be someone better than me," she elaborated, pausing a moment before quickly adding on, "Especially if they're nice enough to spend an afternoon teaching me so much about a niche topic within my area of interest."

"Am I correct to assume that your last statement refers to me?"

"That'd be correct, and seriously, I wouldn't worry too much about those people's opinions, they're just insecure or bigoted or some combination," she replied, turning her attention back to the paintings.

Data gave a slight hum in response before taking a moment to consider what she had said. Of course, he had come to a similar conclusion himself, but it was interesting to hear Mo make a similar observation. 

"I do not have the ability to worry, I was simply exploring a phenomenon that had been drawn to my attention in my quest to become more human," he clarified, his eyes trained on Mo, gauging every slight reaction she had to his words.

"More human huh? Now that's a quest alright."

"It has occurred to me that you might have different insights on certain topics since you are not human, but you have spent many years on Earth surrounded by humans," he pondered aloud, briefly shifting his gaze away from Mo as he drummed over the non-human input on humans.

"Kites," she started, the word sort of leaving her before she had time to form an actual sentence. She shook her head and waved her hands as she continued, "Hold on, sorry, I was just thinking about this one time that my father came back home with kites from Earth. It was the first piece of human culture I was introduced to. I was like, five, for reference, but I never did figure out how to get it to work."

Data's eyebrows knit together slightly as he watched the shorter woman beside him fluster as she talked about kites, "I see," he offered, but before he could offer any sort of real response, Mo interjected.

"I guess that's probably not at all helpful, I had a dream about it recently and learning about humans reminded me of it," she laughed.

"Have you tried to fly a kite since?"

Mo chuckled and shook her head, "No, I guess over the years I kind of forgot about them and I wasn't really in a kite flying mood when I arrived on Earth."

"Is there a certain mood one needs to be in to fly a kite?" he queried, curious as to what all went into the practice of kite flying.

She was seemingly in thought for a moment, but frankly she felt that these questions were getting dangerously close to a part of her book that she would rather keep closed and was trying to contrive a response that wouldn't encourage any questions that might touch on those parts.

"I suppose not, but it's a form of entertainment, so whatever mood might make one desire entertainment I guess," she finally returned, deciding it was probably the most accurate response she could come up with.

Data gave a hum in response to this before returning to his previous explanation of the Saronan romantic era without a pause. Luckily for Mo, this topic was much more her speed and she returned to contentedly listening, occasionally interjecting to ask a question or for further explanation on a specific concept. Every now and then, she would offer her own bit of information, drawing parallels between something Data had just said to something they had observed in the previous exhibit. There was something particularly interesting to Data about the fact that it seemed that she actually listened when he spoke, even if he did often tend to be a bit pedantic. However, it required further study, as there was a possibility that her attention was simply the result of her interest in the specific topic. Still, it was interesting nonetheless.

* * *

"Science Officer's Personal Log, Supplemental, Stardate 41699.2: Sarona VIII is a beautiful place. I'm glad I took some time to visit the surface. I enjoyed my time at the museum and the first five minutes at the club were great. After that, I was exhausted and decided I should probably take advantage of shore leave and catch up on some much needed sleep that is not always so readily available aboard the ship."


End file.
